You Wonder
by Slayergirl
Summary: Sometimes, you really wonder why. Will eventually be a 3-shot. T is probably over-cautious.
1. Nikki

**A/N: Yes, I'm jumping on the 2nd-person narrative bandwagon - something I've never tried before but enjoyed writing. Two more parts after this one :)**

**I own nothing.**

You wonder, as Harry stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him, what possessed you to say the things you just did to him. Did you really think that yelling hurtful things about his supposed immaturity and his latest fling (you refuse to even think of her as his _girlfriend_) would help? Not to mention that in all that bitter sarcasm, you didn't once give him an inkling about how you really feel about him, so, really, what was it you were hoping to achieve? Driving an even bigger wedge between you than Jackie, or Janie, or whatever her name is that you can't be bothered to remember?

_Yes, well done, Nikki, _you say to yourself. _Really smart move, there._

You slump in front of the TV when you get home, searching hopelessly for some escape from the bitchy comments you hurled at him earlier, the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach that, this time, you've screwed things up beyond repair. This is going to take more than an 'I'm really, really sorry'; more, even, than taking over a couple of bottles of red and a takeaway and a pathetic expression in your eyes.

No, you've screwed things up _BIG_ time, this time.

If only you'd actually had the guts to be _honest_ about your reasons for lashing out at him for going on about what's-her-name, he might have at least understood why you did it, and be sympathetic, and wouldn't that be better than nothing?

But you don't want his pity and his sympathy, so you keep flipping channels to try to find _any_thing that's on TV on a Friday night that doesn't have people snogging on it and reminding you that, really, you'd like that to be you and Harry.

You end up watching _A Question Of Sport._

You think of phoning for a takeaway, but it's what you usually eat with Harry, and you can't face it. But you're hungry, so you wander into the kitchen, and poke aimlessly around in the fridge, and the freezer, and the cupboards, in the vain attempt to find something you want to eat. It isn't that there isn't any food, it's just that you don't want to eat any of it.

You bite back a sob, and try to hate Harry for turning you into a pathetic, needy female who spends Friday nights crying over her best friend on her sofa.

It doesn't work.

You glare at the door, wondering who it is calling round here this late, when you're already in your pyjamas, and just want to drown your sorrows in that bottle of merlot that's sitting temptingly on the side in the kitchen. But Harry brought it round for you last week, and you refuse to touch it.

You stomp to the door and fling it open in anger, about to tell whoever it is to _sod off and leave you alone_, but the words die on your lips when you see Harry standing there.

He has a plastic bag over one wrist, and a bottle of wine in each hand.

You try to keep the smile from your lips, not quite believing that he's here, with you, rather than with _her_. And, judging by the smell wafting from the bag he's carrying which makes your stomach growl in appreciation, he's brought your favourite Chinese with him, too.

"Can I come in?"

The expression is suitably pathetic, even though it's _you_ who should be apologising to _him_, not the other way round, so you step back, and let him in. He takes the food through to the kitchen, and gives a double-take when he sees the _unopened_ bottle of wine on the side.

You watch his face as he processes this; that either you're not as upset as he thought you were (but your silence so far suggests otherwise), or that you're too far gone to think it would solve anything.

For a while, he doesn't say anything.

"I've been thinking," he says quietly, a minute or two later, as he dishes out the food onto a couple of plates. You bite back the urge to tell him not to over-exert himself. "What you said about Jolene was uncalled for, but, in hindsight, absolutely true."

You stay silent, not knowing where this is going. In any case, you're not sure which of your catty comments about her he's referring to.

"She did pretty much throw herself at me," he continued. "And, yes, maybe I was… flattered by the attention. Maybe I just wanted to feel that _someone_ appreciated me."

You open your mouth to tell him that you do, too, but think better of it, and close it again. He's not getting off that easily.

He sighs, and you realise he's finding this as hard as you are. But he _hurt_ you, keeps on breaking your heart every time there's a new girl, so you refuse to help him out. You realise it's childish, but you're as stubborn as he is, and you _won't_ back down and turn into a sobbing, pathetic mess. Not until after he's gone, anyway.

"Look, what I'm trying to say is… you were right, it was never going to be a meaningful relationship with her, and yes, it was just about one thing."

Finally, you speak. "I'm right? Can I get that in writing?"

A look of annoyance flashes across his face, and you're amazed that, when he speaks, it isn't to throw an equally caustic remark in your face. You deserve it, after all. "You haven't asked me why I'm here."

You're not sure you want to know. You give a shrug, and an inquiring look.

He takes your plates to the tiny table, and pours you each a glass of wine. "I finished with her," he says quietly, and your heart leaps. "She wasn't that surprised; I think she knew all along that she was the consolation prize."

"Consolation prize?" you croak, your heart plummeting again, wondering who this new competition is. Probably young, and blonde, and curvy, and beautiful, and did you mention _young_?

Then his fingers are laced with yours, and you're confused, and stare down at them, as if the gesture doesn't make sense to you any more. You watch as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, fascinated by the effect it has on you. You forget that your supper's going cold in front of you.

"Nikki…" He halts, and you glance up at him, and the unsure, insecure look on his face has you reeling. "Why… why were you so upset?" he asks finally.

You begin to understand, and suddenly you're shaking, and you don't know why. "I was jealous," you whisper, looking down again at your entwined hands.

He breathes a sigh of relief, and gives a soft laugh. "You've no idea how glad I am that that's why," he says, finally smiling, and he lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it gently.

You smile hesitantly, still not quite believing this is really happening. "You… you mean… I'm…?"

"The one I really wanted," he confirms, and your face is suddenly wreathed in smiles. You start laughing too, a little shyly, and realise what an idiot you've been. But it doesn't matter, because Harry was, too, and everything's going to be okay now.

He grins at you across the table, and releases your hand. "Come on, eat up. I'm starving, and this is going cold."

You eat as if you've been starved for weeks, and end up curled in his arms on the sofa afterwards, the pair of you laughing at your joint idiocy, and how long it's taken the pair of you to talk about your feelings for each other.

You wonder, as he cups your face in his hand and kisses you, how you could ever have doubted it would all work out in the end.


	2. Harry

You wonder, as you gaze at the locks of golden hair spread out across the pillow, how it all happened so fast. You're not sure that it really matters, after six years of avoiding the issue, why it was tonight rather than any other night. But you still wonder, anyway, as you try to keep awake. Part of you is crying out for sleep, but another part just wants to lie here, drinking in the sight of those curls, the eyes closed in sleep, the perfect face.

A frown creases her forehead, and a whimper of discontent escapes her in her sleep. You pull the covers up over her bare shoulder, and slip your hand round her waist to fold it around her hand. She gives a soft sigh, and, in her sleep, entwines her fingers with yours, the frown clearing. You can't help wondering if she's dreaming of you.

There's a wonderment about this evening that you've never felt before, and you're thinking things you've never thought before, but instead of frightening you half to death, as you always thought it would, it fills you with a sense of adventure and joy, and you know this is right. It still scares you that you might lose her, but not to another man, not now; you understand instinctively that you're her forever. It doesn't scare you; it leaves you looking forward to the future with excitement akin to waiting for Father Christmas. You can't wait for it to begin.

You fear losing her to death, or illness, or old age, but you know that it's a part of life that you can't run away from, and you don't want to any more.

You wonder if it's too soon to talk about marriage, and then start thinking about diamond solitaires, and whether she'd prefer gold or silver, or maybe white gold or even platinum? You realise it's too soon to be thinking about that without having actually asked her, but you want her to know that you're serious about her, that this is it for you, too.

You wonder if she wants to have children, and hope that, if she does, they'd look like her. Then you think about what having a phalanx of teenage daughters – you'd quite like to have a big family, so unlike your own lonely childhood – looking like Nikki would be like, and hastily amend your ideas. Perhaps it would be better if they looked like you, instead.

Your last thought, as you finally drift off to sleep, unable to keep your eyes open, even to watch her sleeping, is that you've never been happier.

***

The next thing that you're aware of is sunlight filtering into the room, and you groan, thinking that you must have forgotten to draw the blinds last night. You have a moment of terrified panic when you try to raise your hand to rub your eyes, finding it entwined with another hand, and you think for a horrified moment that it's Jolene; but then you remember last night, and relax, and curl back down again, pulling Nikki closer to you.

You smile as a noise that sounds something like a purr escapes her, and she turns drowsily towards you, and smiles. "You stayed."

You know you always will, that you'll never be able to leave her, but your heart's too full to say anything, so you just hold her closer and kiss her gently on the lips, still marvelling that you're actually there doing it. You love seeing this side of her, as she sighs contentedly in your arms, all sleep-soft, warm and yielding. It's a side of her few people get to see, this softer, gentler side of Nikki, and you love it. You know there's nowhere else in the world you'd rather be.

"What day is it?" she mumbles, and you can't help but chuckle.

"Saturday, all day. And yes, we do have to get up and go to work."

She wrinkles her nose adorably, and you know she's thinking the same as you – that it would be so much nicer to stay in bed all day. But you know Leo would have fifty fits if neither of you showed, so you nudge her and tickle her gently until she pulls a face and gets up. "You grab a shower first, and I'll make us some breakfast."

You don't argue; you know what Nikki's like in the bathroom from the one time she stayed over at yours, between moving out of her old place and in here. It was only a week, but you're a fast learner. It amazes you that you still want to live with her, after all that, but you do, more than anything.

As you make your way into her kitchen, after your shower, you wonder just how you're going to bring up, for a start, living together, secondly, marriage, and thirdly, children. It should be weird, after being 'together' for less than twenty-four hours, but it feels so right that you just want to get on with it. You can't help feeling that you've both wasted the last six years, and you don't feel inclined to waste any more time than you have to. You'd elope with her today, if you could. You wonder how she'd feel about a trip to Gretna Green. Or maybe Las Vegas.

You clear your throat a little nervously as she places a pot of coffee on the table. "I've been thinking…"

She grins. "Don't over-exert yourself, will you?"

You roll your eyes, but you're too happy, right now, to care that she's just insulted you. It's no different from normal, anyway. "How would you feel about moving in with me?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Or you could move in with me."

"Or… we could find somewhere of our own," you suggest. "Move in together."

She blinks rapidly a couple of times, and you wonder if she realises just how seriously you mean this. "You don't think it's a bit soon to…"

You shake your head. "No. Not after six wasted years. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." It's out of your mouth before you can stop it, and you're suddenly terrified, seeing the tears well up in her eyes.

"You… you really want to… with me…?" she stutters, and you realise it's not because she hates the idea, but because she wants it, too, and didn't quite believe you were as serious as she was, and you bounce up, and wrap your arms around her, holding her tight.

"Yes. Definitely. In fact, I spent about half an hour last night wondering if you'd prefer gold, or silver… or white gold… if you'd go for a traditional diamond solitaire, or maybe a sapphire, or…"

She gulps, and you know you've surprised her. "Are you…?" she whispers, eyes wide.

You grin at her. "I was just wondering, that's all," you tell her. "For future reference."

You grin at her again, kiss her gently, and sit down to eat the croissants she's warmed through, watching her with darkened eyes as she licks Nutella off her fingers. She seems to have accepted, now, that you're serious about her, and your heart starts humming a happy little tune. She hasn't quite given you an answer about moving in or marriage, and you're not going to push your luck by talking about children, but you know that things are going to work out, now.

You wonder how it took you so long to figure it all out.


	3. Leo

You wonder, as they come in late, and think you haven't seen them kissing in the corridor, how long they're going to try to keep their relationship a secret from everyone, even though Charlie's already given you a knowing grin, and it's only just gone nine. You pretend not to notice, and wonder how long you, too, can keep up the pretence that nothing's changed.

You feign surprise two weeks later when you walk in on them kissing in the locker room, and pretend to be annoyed with them for keeping you in the dark (when, actually, you're really rather amused by the whole thing).

You smile when you see them at the office Christmas party, kissing under the mistletoe. Everyone knows, by now, but that doesn't stop Charlie from giving an audible 'Awwww…' (you suspect she's probably had a drop too much mulled wine), and Janet from nudging you in the ribs and grinning broadly, nodding in their direction. You're relieved they've gone public; it'll stop all the lab techs going weak at the knees over Harry, and the whole of the London Metropolitan police force from testosterone-fuelled masculine posturings around Nikki. Well, you hope so, anyway. It was all getting a bit much.

It rather amuses you that there'll be so many broken hearts over the pair of them, and you wonder when you turned into a grumpy old man. Then Janet smiles lovingly at you, and you realise that you're neither grumpy nor old, you're just acknowledging that these two young colleagues of yours are meant to be.

You're delighted when Nikki comes in one day in mid-February, when they're back from a long weekend in Paris, and proudly shows you the white-gold Cartier ring, set with a dainty diamond solitaire, that graces her finger, and tells you in an awed whisper that Harry proposed at the top of the Eiffel Tower as the clock struck midnight on Valentine's Day, and it was so romantic, with all the lights twinkling all over the tower, and the stars in the frosty sky, and the view over the Seine, and Harry down on one knee… and despite it being horrendously busy, because they've been away for a couple of days and there's been a spate of murders, and there are bodies piling up in the morgue, you still sit and listen, wrapt, because it sounds like something from a fairy-tale.

You get a bit emotional when you walk Nikki up the aisle, because she said she'd rather you gave her away than her own father, and because you never got the chance to walk Cassie up the aisle, and never will. But then you smile, thinking that Janet didn't want to know if she was expecting a girl or a boy, so you might still be able to walk your daughter up the aisle one day, as well as Nikki.

You look on proudly as they say their vows, submit to the endless photographs, and get so nervous about the father of the bride's speech that you very nearly fluff your well-rehearsed lines, and it's only Janet, sitting beside you and smiling, that calms you down enough to get through it.

You wave them off on honeymoon, and groan, thinking how long three weeks without them is going to be, and wonder whatever possessed you to sign them off for that long. Then you remember Nikki's beseeching look when she told you that Harry wanted to take her back to South Africa on honeymoon, and you couldn't resist that look, any more than you could when she first gate-crashed your mortuary. You groan again, thinking how quiet it's going to be without them.

You wonder if they'll send you a postcard.

You grin proudly at them when they come to see baby Nicola Jane, and hand Nikki a tissue when she realises you've gone and named your daughter after her. You hand her another tissue as you ask her if she'll be little Nicola's godmother.

You cry tears of anguish when she miscarries her first child, a little girl, and tears of joy when she gives birth to baby Leo Harry, and tears of delight when you realise _she's_ gone and named her son after _you_.

You listen when she pours out to you her confusion over her desire to work and her need to be a good parent, and you discuss all the options with her, not knowing whether you're hoping she'll follow her heart or her head. You feel torn when she works part time for a while, while little Leo is still too little to be left overmuch, and breathe a sigh of relief when he starts at nursery, and she comes back to work full-time.

You cry openly when she names her twin daughters Theresa and Cassandra, and hug both her and Harry as though you never want to let them go.

You get a locum in, this time, because you and Harry just can't cope without a third person, and in any case, Harry's wrapped up in his new baby daughters and you feel bad about asking him to work late when he has two _tiny_ ones to look after (because Tessa and Cassie are still remarkably little, and so cute...), as well as Nikki and little Leo (who's growing alarmingly fast; you suspect he takes after his dad).

You wonder why you asked the entire Cunningham tribe over to meet little Sam when he and Janet come home from the hospital, though you wouldn't really have missed seeing them for the world – even the two twin Cunninghams, at just three months.

When Nikki tells you she's expecting her fourth child, you threaten to take Harry to get him snipped.

When she's expecting her fifth, you seriously consider actually doing it.

When she very nervously tells you she's expecting her sixth, you think you'll actually do it yourself, until she bursts out into hysterical giggles, and you realise with relief that she's joking.

You put up with children running round the office, and even install a low table and a couple of small chairs so they can do their colouring-in under your watchful eye while their parents are otherwise engaged in cutting up bodies and talking to relatives of the deceased.

You boggle when, at the age of five, a precocious Cassie informs Janet that she wants to be a pathologist like mummy and daddy and Uncle Leo.

You're somehow unsurprised that little Leo wants to fulfil his father's ambition of being a pilot, and are unaccountably glad that he won't be prevented by a heart murmur. But you're still glad that Harry was.

You love the fact that your three children get on so well with Harry and Nikki's five, and you wonder idly if there'll be any romances there.

You get your answer when they all hit their teens, and all hell breaks loose.

You wonder why you ever thought having children was a good idea in the first place.

You smile proudly as Mia, a veritable mini-Nikki, the youngest Cunningham, marries James, your youngest.

You tear your hair out over Sam, who can't get over Tessa, who's head over heels in love with Tim, one of their friends, who's head over heels in love with Cassie, who's head over heels in love with Sam.

You feel for Nikki and Harry when Katie, the youngest-but-one, decides to go and work in a Kibbutz for a couple of years, and have a quiet chuckle to yourself when she's home in under three months.

You tear your hair out over Sam, who's head over heels in love with Katie, who's really just interested in vet school.

You walk Nicola down the aisle, and give a soft sigh as Janet gives you an understanding look and a hug.

You tear your hair out over Sam, who can't get over Tessa (again), who's still in love with Tim.

You cheer as Katie gets through vet school with flying colours, and announces she's got a boyfriend (who reminds you a lot of Harry when he was younger).

You tear your hair out over Sam, who's breaking his heart over Katie and her new boyfriend.

You're prepared to sit up all night with Sam when Tessa finally marries Tim, but he seems remarkably chilled out about it. The next thing you know, which defeats you utterly, is that he's telling you he wants to settle down with Cassie, who, thankfully, feels the same way.

It's become such a force of habit, you tear your hair out over him anyway.

You wonder why you ever thought that Harry and Nikki getting together would make life easier – but you know you wouldn't have changed it for the world.


End file.
